


Not Making Ghosts

by youhavebeenwarmed



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking, fluffwald, nicewald, willful destruction of bedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:16:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youhavebeenwarmed/pseuds/youhavebeenwarmed
Summary: Charles finds Oswald's tastes in friends unsettling. The spindly, black-clad, assassin especially so.That doesn't mean he'll refuse the task to seduce him.





	Not Making Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I each wrote a fic using the same prompt. His story can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11304714).  
> Full prompt at the end.

 

They should have let him try.

Charles’ mother and sister had been so certain that if Oswald wasn’t tempted by Sasha, then he wouldn’t be tempted by anyone at all. As if she was the be all and end all of desire—which was proved soundly wrong when Oswald’s boyfriend showed up.

Well, not that anyone was calling him that, not yet anyway. Oswald didn’t have it in him to act on his feelings, but it was clear, plain as day, that he had them from the way he made countless shy glances as the spindly, black-clad _assassin_.

Because, of course, his dear brother didn’t have any normal friends.

“I thought we already had a plan,” Sasha said, a faint whine in her voice.

“We did,” his mother said. “But that plan is no longer any good. We simply can’t poison _both_ of them.”

“Why not?” Charles added, not because he was being particularly serious, but because he was tired of being quiet. “Surely there’s enough in the bottle?”

His mother’s eyes narrowed briefly in his direction, before returning to their placid, non-wrinkle forming state.

“Don’t be stupid Charles, one unexpected death can be explained, but not two.”

“He’s an assassin,” Sasha said. “I don’t see why we can’t just hire him to, you know,” she paused to make air quotes, “’fix’ our problem.”

His mother blinked, but only for a moment before a slow smile began to spread across her features. “Sasha my dear, that is exactly the sort of idea I expect from you.”

Sasha beamed at the praise. “He probably won’t let just anyone hire him though. Want me to go make friends?”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Because that worked so well last time.”

“Charles has a point.”

Charles glanced at his mother, surprised. “I do?”

She gave him a slight nod. “This time, I think we’d be better off if Charles tried.”

“Well, of course.” Charles smiled. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

 

Charles found Victor—and of course, Oswald, and Elijah—in the study. They were playing cards.

“If you want to pull up a chair, Charles,” Elijah said with a smile. “We can deal you in. We’ve only just started.”

Charles looked down at the cards and frowned. “I thought Gin was a two-person game.”

“We’re following a different set of rules so Victor can play,” Oswald said, giving him the same guileless smile as Elijah. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Alright,” Charles said, giving Victor a brief smile as he took his seat.

Victor didn’t smile back. Instead he regarded him silently, the unwavering gaze of his brown eyes leaving Charles unsettled. A small voice whispered that he should be afraid, this man was a killer, but Charles hushed it. It was good that he had his attention. After all, he could hardly seduce him otherwise.

He hoped the game wouldn’t be as tedious as he remembered.

It was worse. He barely even had the opportunity to talk to Victor, let alone flirt, he was too busy trying to figure out the rules of the game. He’d barely had a grasp on them before, and now they’d been changed.

“He’s letting you win,” Victor said when Elijah called out “gin” for the third time in a row.

Charles frowned, he’d been losing fair and square, as much as he’d like to pretend he’d been doing it on purpose… But then he realized who he meant.

Oswald’s eyes widened as everyone turned to look at him.

“That’s alright,” Elijah said with a soft smile. “I know.”

“But, um, my father’s an excellent player and…” Guilt flashed across Oswald’s features, and he looked down at his lap. “It’s just that—I mean, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry,” Elijah said.

Oswald’s brow creased as he looked up. “But I was dishonest, I—”

“It reminds me of when I used to play games with Gertrud. I did the same thing. She always did like to win.”

Charles was glad his mother wasn’t present to hear _that_.

Elijah shifted his focus to Charles. “I imagine your mother also likes to win. Unfortunately, she’s never been one to play games with me.”

“Unfortunately,” Charles echoed, his smile polite, if forced.

“Oh.” Oswald didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“But I would like to see what my son can do with a deck of cards.”

“I would like to see that too.” Victor bumped his fist against Oswald’s shoulder. The gesture seemed completely unnatural coming from the assassin.

Oswald didn’t seem to think so however, for he blushed. Or maybe he was simply overwhelmed at being the center of so much attention.

It was moments like these where Charles felt like an intruder. Which was, of course, entirely wrong. This was his house, he’d lived here far longer than Oswald, and Victor was merely a guest, but the innocent pleasure they took in these trite and boring things made it feel like he was peering into a space where he didn’t belong.

There was a part of him that thought it was a shame that their little world had to be broken down in order to make way for his own future. But he couldn’t allow himself to think like that. It wasn’t just about him, he had his mother and sister to consider as well.

“Alright,” Oswald said, finally.

“Splendid.” Elijah smiled brightly as he dealt another hand.

The one good thing about Oswald playing sincerely, was that Charles’ inevitable loss was over with much quicker, like slamming a door to pull a loose tooth.

After the required round of congratulations, Victor leaned close to Oswald.

“It’s time to show me the gardens.”

Oswald looked dazed for an instant, and Charles could practically _hear_ his heart fluttering.

“Of course,” Elijah said cheerfully and began to put the cards away. “I could use a rest before dinner. I need to recover from such an entertaining game.”

Victor’s eyes darted to Charles and then back to Oswald, who he gave a slight nod.

Suddenly flustered, Oswald clasped his hands in his lap. “Of course, where are my manners?” He laughed nervously. “Did you want to walk in the garden too, Charles?”

This was the part where he was supposed to say _no_. Give the two lovebirds a chance to connect.

“I would love to,” Charles said, feigning delight. “I can fill Oswald in on some things about his family’s estate.”

Oswald looked conflicted, but only for a moment, before his smile was genuine again. “I’d like to hear about that. It’s all still so new to me.”

His sincerity caused something to twist inside Charles’ stomach. He was careful not to examine it too closely.

Charles offered his arm to help Elijah to his feet, even though he’d been content to let Oswald take over such things since he’d arrived. He wasn’t sure why he did it, especially when the look of appreciation Elijah gave him only made his stomach feel stranger.

It was their fault for being so nice, he told himself. Nice people were just setting themselves up to be taken advantage of. There was certainly no reason to care about what they were doing to themselves.

 

The walk wasn’t quite as unpleasant as the card game. Oswald’s leg obviously pained him, forcing him to move slowly, even though he was clearly lurching along faster than was good for him. Charles found it uncomfortable to watch.

Really, he wasn’t sure why Oswald didn’t just have it corrected surgically. Surely there was something that could be done, rather than having to live with such a glaring handicap.

Charles did his best to ignore it as they toured the gardens, instead trying to explain as much of the history as he knew. He had never found it particularly interesting before, but there was something nice about having such a willing audience. Oswald asked questions and listened eagerly, and because of that, Charles found himself dredging up every fact he could think of.

Victor, however, the one he was _supposed_ to be impressing, barely paid any attention at all. Most of the time he was looking off in the distance, or briefly glancing at the plants and walkways. Charles wondered if he was bored and lost in thought, or if it was an assassin thing, and he was scouting the area for potential threats—or vantage points where he could make a shot.

After a while, it was clear Oswald’s state was beginning to deteriorate. His breathing was labored and his skin flushed, although his cheerfulness never wavered. Charles was on the verge of asking him if he wanted to turn back, when Victor dashed forward and _seized_ Oswald.

Charles jumped back, alarmed at the motion, and for one shocking moment he thought Victor was making an attack on Oswald all on his own.

But no, he simply scooped Oswald up in his arms—making him squeak in a completely undignified manner—and carried him over to place him on the nearest bench.

“Time to rest,” Victor said.

Oswald looked stunned, but only for a moment before he looked at his hands clasped in his lap, his face somehow managing to get even redder, before he mumbled a faint “thank you.”

It was ridiculous. Charles had just spent god knows how long playing tour guide, putting great effort into being as informative as possible, while all Victor had done was quietly ignore Oswald for most of the walk, and then, just by scaring him nearly to death, he’d gotten Oswald to look at him like he’d hung the moon.

Well, no matter, it wasn’t Oswald he was meant to seduce. He’d do a better job at dinner.

 

Except that neither Oswald nor Victor showed up for dinner.

Oswald, apparently, had worn himself out from the walk, and Victor had volunteered to take a tray up to his room.

Charles did his best to ignore the looks his mother and sister gave him. At least they couldn’t ask any questions in front of Elijah.

 

#

 

Charles stood for a long moment outside Victor’s room. He wasn’t entirely certain what it was that was making him hesitate. He’d already decided the direct approach was the only one that had any chance, there was no reason to get cold feet now.

He took a steadying breath, and knocked.

Victor answered almost immediately.

“I brought us a nightcap,” Charles said, attempting a roguish smile.

Victor glanced down at the bottle of wine and two glasses in Charles’ hand. “No thank you. I don’t want any.”

Charles paused, thrown by the sudden refusal, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, well, more for me I suppose.”

Victor only stared at him.

“May I come in?”

“If you want.” Victor took a step back.

As Charles passed him, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, but he did his best to write it off.

Although part of him wondered if perhaps he should listen to his instincts. While there was a certain thrill to going to bed with a man who probably knew half a dozen ways to incapacitate him with his bare hands, he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.

No, he was overreacting. The man might be a killer, but he was still a professional. He would know it would be stupid to do anything terrible to Charles under his own roof. It wasn’t like he was unhinged.

There was nowhere to sit other than the bed, and following Victor’s lead, Charles sat down on the edge facing the other man. He sat the wine and glasses on the trunk at the foot of the bed, but he wasn’t ready to open them just yet.

“My services aren’t available,” Victor said, jarring Charles from his thoughts.

“What?” Charles’ heart rate accelerated at the thought that his plan had been discovered. “Who says that’s why I’m here?”

Victor gave him a measured look.

“I’m insulted,” Charles continued, forcing a smile. “Although perhaps it’s my fault for not making my intentions clearer.”

He tried his best to look natural as he leaned forward and placed his hand on Victor’s thigh.

“Oh,” Victor said, and he actually had the gall to look _disappointed_. “I’m not interested in that either.”

Charles pulled his hand back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you liked men.”

“I do.” Victor nodded. “I don’t like you though.”

Charles sucked in his breath. “But that’s—I mean, you… Why not?”

Victor shrugged.

Charles was floored. _That_ was all he got? He was handsome, he was rich, and he deserved more than just a shrug.

“Is it because there’s already someone you’re interested in?” He braced himself to hear the name _Oswald_.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, just because—”

“But I also don’t find you attractive.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Charles scoffed. “I’m very—”

Victor jumped to his feet and Charles was startled into silence.

“You should leave before you embarrass yourself.” Victor paused, tilting his head as if contemplating something. “Or before you embarrass yourself more.”

Charles sputtered. “I haven’t embarrassed myself.”

Victor reached towards him, and Charles got the sense he was about to be _helped_ out of the room.

“Don’t touch me.” Charles slid away from his grasp and stood up.

Victor followed as Charles scrambled out of the room and into the hall.

“Who says I wanted anything to do with you anyway? You’re—you’re unbearably rude.”

“Careful.” Victor waved a finger back and forth in front of him, as if Charles was a naughty child who’d just misspoke.

Charles couldn’t even remember the last time something had made him so angry. “And _you’re_ the one who’s unattractive.”

Victor simply shut the door on him.

 

Charles went the long way to his room, just in case his mother and sister were waiting up for him. He wasn’t ready to explain to them that he’d failed.

Sasha hadn’t succeeded either. There was no reason this had to be a big deal. Except that he couldn’t stop replaying Victor’s words in his mind. That he wasn’t attractive. That he’d _embarrassed_ himself. Or the way Victor had wagged his finger in his face while Charles had done nothing to counter it.

The worst part was that Victor would remember it too. He would stare across from him at the dining room table and think about what a fool Charles had made of himself.

He wondered if he’d tell Oswald. Then Oswald would know that Victor, that lunatic, actually preferred him over Charles. Like Elijah preferred him as a son.

He couldn’t fail again.

 

All he was doing, Charles told himself as he tightened his grip on the kitchen knife, was solving the problem of the unwanted guest in the way they’d originally planned.

He was waiting in the dark hallway outside Victor’s door dressed only in pajamas. That would be part of his cover story if he was caught: he’d woken up and went for a snack, while in the kitchen he’d heard a noise and grabbed a knife to investigate. He had thought this out well.

Even assassins needed to sleep. They couldn’t be alert all the time. The lights had gone off a while ago, but Charles was too smart to go barging straight in. No, he waited until he was sure.

Still, it took a lot of willpower to try the doorknob. He’d brought a spare key, but he didn’t need it, as the door was unlocked.

He slipped inside and paused. He wanted to leave the door open, that way it would be easier to escape or call for help, but there was a risk of light or noise giving him away. He forced himself to shut it.

There was just enough moonlight from the window to let him see the shape of the bed. He crept forward slowly, until he was standing right beside it.

He could see Victor’s outline beneath the blankets, but he couldn’t make out any details. He didn’t know how to locate his throat or any other vital spot without pulling the covers off, and that certainly wasn’t a reasonable option. His heart was hammering in his chest hard enough just at the thought of what would happen if Victor unexpectedly woke up.

Maybe this was a mistake.

No, if he turned back now he would be a coward in addition to a failure. He had to go through with it. He could never look himself in the eye again if he didn’t.

He took a deep breath, raised the knife above his head, and then plunged it deep into Victor’s torso.

Only he met no resistance, and he stumbled forward onto the bed with a cry as the blade pierced the pile of bedding.

Victor wasn’t in the bed. He’d only made it look like he was. It was like something Charles would have done in junior high, sneaking out to meet a friend.

Had Victor snuck out?

The thought that he was in Oswald’s room doing naughty things to him made him grimace.

“You should have aimed for the throat,” Victor said, switching on the nightstand lamp.

Charles yelped and spun around, his arms shielding his eyes from the brightness.

Victor was only a few steps away. Any moment he was sure to attack. Charles had to act now, before he lost the upper hand.

He raised the weapon, only to feel Victor’s hand clamp around his wrist so tightly that it felt as if his bones would break.

Charles cried out in pain, and the knife was pried from his fingers.

Victor tossed the weapon across the room, and then seized Charles by the throat.

Charles squealed in panic. This wasn’t how he’d expected to die. He gulped in breath after breath while he still could, his free hand clawing at Victor’s hold on his throat.

“Breathe slower,” Victor said calmly. “You’re giving yourself an anxiety attack.”

“Don’t kill me.” But even as he said the words, Charles realized that his breathing wasn’t actually obstructed. Victor wasn’t squeezing at all. The pressure on his wrist had lessened as well, although the pain lingered.

Victor smiled at him, and it was _gruesome._ Harsh and predatory, and Charles felt himself begin to shake.

“Please, don’t kill me. I didn’t—”

“I won’t.” Victor leaned in closer and Charles had the irrational fear—at least he hoped it was irrational—that Victor was going to bite him. Sink his teeth in and come away with his ear or maybe even a piece of his cheek.

But Victor only whispered. “Want to know why?”

“W-why?”

“Because Oswald made me promise not to.”

Charles sagged in relief. It was a bit unsettling that Oswald and Victor had discussed killing him at all, but it made sense that the little do-gooder would make such a rule. They were “family” after all.

“Well, then I suggest you let go of me this instant. We wouldn’t want him finding out how you’d _threatened_ me, do you?”

Victor was grinning again, and while it was just as frightening as the last time, Charles reminded himself that there was nothing the assassin could actually _do_ to him. He had no reason to fear.

“I’m warning you,” Charles said, forcing his voice to sound more authoritative, like his mother’s when she was dressing down the maid. “That if you don’t—”

“I’m going to punish you.”

“Punish me?” The last word rose in pitch, and Charles cleared his throat. “Punish me how?” Only after the words were out, did he realize that he shouldn’t have said them. He should have told Victor point blank that he had no right to do anything of the kind to him.

Victor let go of his throat—but not his wrist—as he moved to sit on the bed.

Charles frowned down at him in confusion. Did he want a blowjob or something? He’d made his lack of interest rather clear before. The ambiguity made him nervous.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Victor ordered in a tone that the mere thought of disobeying sent a cold feeling into Charles’ stomach.

Charles nodded.

Victor let go of him, and Charles watched, transfixed, as he slowly unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to expose muscular forearms. Marks were carved into his skin, several of them fresh. They made up small lines in rows of four with another crossing over them, like tallies.

“What are those?” Charles’ voice was unsteady in spite of his best efforts.

“I like to keep track of my work.”

His work? “But—but aren’t you an—then are those…”

“People I’ve killed?” Victor looked faintly amused.

Charles found hope in that. Perhaps it was a joke.

“Yes,” Victor confirmed.

Charles felt his stomach twist. “If it’s money you want—”

“Shh.” Victor’s eyes were hard.

“Is it—do you—” Charles paused, trying to swallow down some of his desperation. “Oswald _did_ make you promise not to hurt me, didn’t he?”

“Hm? Oh, no.”

Charles sucked in a breath. “But you _said_ —”

“I said that I’m not going to kill you.” Victor reached out to take Charles’ upper arm in a firm grip. “But I am going to hurt you.”

Charles tried to twist out of his grasp, but Victor had him too tight, and he found himself forced off balance and then trapped face down over Victor’s lap.

“Let me go!”

One of Victor’s arms wrapped vice-like around his waist, while the other one was pushing his shirt up to expose his lower back. He tried to struggle out of Victor’s hold, but he was unable to work himself free. He could only look back over his shoulder to see Victor raise his arm and let it slowly descend to tap the seat of his pajama pants—as if he were taking _aim_.

Charles felt himself flush. “You can’t be serious?” He couldn’t possibly intend on... He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake.

“Try not to tense up.”

“No. You can’t—ah!” Charles jerked as Victor’s palm landed solidly on his ass. “That _hurt_.”

“Good.” Victor swatted him again.

“You can’t do this! I-I order you to stop!” Charles increased his struggles as Victor hit him a third time. “Ow—you don’t have to do it so _hard_!”

To his amazement, Victor actually did stop. Charles didn’t know what he’d said to make him listen, but whatever it was he was, he was grateful for it.

“Is this your first time being spanked?”

Charles felt his face heat at the indignity of that question. “Of course, it is. My parents were civilized.” Or at least his mother was. But even his father had never done _this_.

Victor hummed tunelessly. There was something odd about it.

Charles frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hm? Oh, just that I can tell.” Victor drummed his fingers on the skin of Charles’ lower back, sending prickles up his spine. “It’s obvious you’re not used to this.”

Before Charles could respond, he felt Victor’s fingers slide under the waistband of his pants.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Doing it properly.”

To Charles’ mortification, he felt the fabric being tugged down. He tried to squirm away, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

“You don’t—this isn’t necessary. You can consider me thoroughly punished. You said it yourself, I’m not _used_ to it. You don’t need to be as hard on me as you would an ordinary person.”

Victor laughed.

“Please. I can _pay_ you. I—” Charles yipped as Victor’s palm cracked down upon his ass. It was even more painful now without the thin layer of padding his pajamas had provided.

Victor put a leg over his, reducing the amount Charles could move, as he began to lay into him. The sound of the smacks, of skin striking skin, was so loud that surely someone must hear, even if not one of his family, then surely the maid would come to check if someone was being beaten to death in here. As embarrassing as it would be to be discovered like this, he could live with that as long as it just stopped.

“Please—what do you want? I’ll give you anything!”

“Apologize for stabbing my bed.”

“Yes, of course! I apologize for that, for everything! I wish I’d never tried, please no more!”

“And for sneaking into my room?”

“What? Sure, yes, that too. I’m really sorry!”

But despite his cooperation, Victor continued smacking him. There were barely even any pauses between the strikes.

“I apologized, I did what you asked! Why aren’t you stopping?”

“Because this doesn’t end until I decide it does.”

Charles was stunned. “But that’s—that’s just not fair, that’s—ah!—you’re just being cruel. This isn’t a punishment, it’s _vindictive_.”

Unmoved by his words, Victor kept swatting him, every bit as hard as before, and Charles broke down in tears.

“Please,” he begged, one sob after another rising up in his throat. “I promise I really am sorry.” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care, he just wanted the pain to end.

“You’re almost done.”

It was little comfort, but it was all he had, and Charles clung to the hope that Victor meant it.

He hadn’t made much of an attempt to remain quiet, but it didn’t seem to matter, no one was coming to his rescue.

Victor didn’t respond to any more of his pleading, and after a while Charles wasn’t paying much attention either. Eventually he was only sobbing.

Then suddenly the blows ceased. He felt Victor slide his pants back into place.

“All done,” Victor said cheerfully. He patted him lightly on his bottom and Charles yelped out of habit.

Victor guided him back onto his feet, not letting go until he was steady, but Charles didn’t have it in him to be grateful for the “kindness.”

He wiped away his tears with his sleeves, then, when he couldn’t seem to stop making more, he buried his face in his hands.

“There’s a hole in my pillow now,” Victor announced. “Hm, not just in the pillow, but in the blanket and sheet as well.”

“I’ll call the maid to change your sheets.” Charles knew his voice was muffled, but he was too distraught to care.

“Helga is in bed.”

“She’s willing to get up when needed. It’s what we pay her for.” Not that he wanted to talk to her when he’d obviously been crying. Now that the benefit of being rescued was past, he didn’t really want anyone to know about this. But any excuse to leave the room was appealing. He could wash up on the way.

“No. I want you to do it.”

“Do what? Make your bed?” Charles looked up in surprise. As offensive as the idea was, worse was the thought that Victor expected him to come back. He never intended to set foot in this room again.

“No. Just show me where the linen closet is. Afterwards, you can stitch the sheets.”

Charles felt his jaw drop open, but it took a moment for the words to follow. “You expect me to _sew_?”

Victor didn’t answer. He just stripped the blankets from the bed, rolled them up, and pushed them into his arms.

Charles wanted to shove them back at him. Or at the very least, throw them on the ground. But he was too afraid of what Victor would do in retaliation, so instead, he just stood there mutely.

Rather than pile the damaged pillow on top and block Charles’ view, Victor tucked it under his own arm.

“Lead the way.”

Charles grimaced at him, but he went to the door, and showed Victor where the linens were kept in the hall. To his dismay, Victor merely made note of the location, and then insisted on accompanying Charles back to his room.

Victor stopped on the threshold and tilted his chin at the sheets. “I want these back by tomorrow night.”

Charles couldn’t help it, he let out a frustrated sigh. “They’re not even yours. And even if stitched they’d never be up to the standard that my mother expects and furthermore—”

Victor stepped dangerously close to him. “You will mend them, or you get another punishment, is that clear?”

“I don’t even know how to sew,” Charles whined. It was true, even though he’d lived with Elijah since he was small, he’d never learned. On the occasions when Elijah had suggested teaching him, his mother had always talked him out of it.

“I asked you a question.”

“Look, I’m not saying I won’t do it—I will, if you insist—But that doesn’t make it reasonable.”

“Oh, I insist.” Victor smiled at him, then dropped the pillow on top of the sheets, blocking Charles’ view. “Sweet dreams.”

Charles stood frozen until he heard the door close and Victor’s footsteps retreat down the hall. Once he was certain he wasn’t coming back, he threw everything onto the floor with a growl, kicking at it, before he spun and threw himself onto his bed.

He could barely breathe. He was furious and in pain and _humiliated_. It was all so much worse than before. And their plan to hire Victor was utterly ruined.

Everyone was sure to know what had happened. Victor would tell at least Oswald about it, if not all of them. And his mother would ask what had happened and he’d have to explain…

He was never going to be able to leave his room again.

This was all Oswald’s fault. He’d brought that monster into the house in the first place.

Charles wasn’t used to sleeping on his stomach, but he realized he didn’t seem to have any other choice.

He vowed, as he drifted off to sleep, that he’d never forgive Oswald for any of this.

 

#

 

When Helga knocked on the door to ask why he wasn’t at breakfast, Charles told her that he was sick, didn’t want to see anyone, and just wanted to rest.

That should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t even ten minutes before there was another knock on the door.

“Go away,” Charles shouted, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed against the covers.

“It’s me,” a meek, cheerful voice that he most definitely did not want to hear said. “I heard you were sick, so I, well, I thought I’d bring you a tray.”

Charles started to open his mouth to again tell Oswald to go away, but then he thought better of it. He was hungry, and of everyone in the house, his “brother” was the least likely to ask questions. He was also the only one gullible enough to believe Charles was actually sick.

“OK, come in.”

Oswald let himself in and shut the door behind him. He gave Charles a timid smile as he placed the tray on the bed.

Charles rolled over on his side to look at it.

“I tried to get a little bit of everything. I didn’t know what you were in the mood for.”

As mad as he’d been at Oswald last night, he just didn’t have it in him to be cutting, especially not when his mother and sister weren’t there to watch.

“It looks good. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Oswald said, even though it was obvious that he was practically glowing from the praise. He was as bad as Sasha.

Oswald’s eyes went to the pile of bedding on the floor. “Oh, would you like me to put those down the laundry shoot?”

“No!” Charles blurted before he caught himself. “I mean, no thank you. They don’t need to be washed.”

“Then let me put them away for you—”

“Just forget about the sheets,” Charles snapped.

Oswald looked at him, startled.

Charles forced himself to calm down. He gave Oswald an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I need to mend those and I don’t want to get them mixed up.”

“Oh, of course.” Oswald was quiet for a moment, but it was clear the gears were turning in his head. “I could help with that, if you want.” He cringed, as if he expected to be yelled at again.

Charles stared at him in disbelief. “You know how to sew?”

“My mother taught me.” Oswald gave a little shrug. “You never know when it will come in handy, she used to say.”

“That’s… That’s true. I am rather sick. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Of course not, do you have a sewing kit?”

“Um, no actually.” He hadn’t even thought about that.

Oswald just smiled brightly at him. “I do. I’ll be right back.”

To his amazement, Oswald flitted out of the room, only to return a moment later with some needle and thread.

Charles scooted over so that Oswald could sit on the bed. He was relieved that he didn’t remark on how Charles was still lying on his side rather than sitting up.

He watched as Oswald began to work on the pillow case, making neat little stitches.

This was a godsend. Well, as long as Victor didn’t find out about it. Charles began to eat his breakfast as he thought of a way to make sure that didn’t happen.

“So, you and Victor seem to have a lot to talk about.”

An odd look crossed over Oswald’s face, as if he’d been caught sneaking something he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Oh, well, we go back a long way.”

“It’s good to have a friend like that. To be able to say anything to, even trivial little things about your day.”

“I do try not to bore him.” Oswald flashed a nervous smile.

Charles smiled back at him, as if they were friends as well. “True, he has led and exciting life. He probably doesn’t want to hear about the more mundane details.  Like that exciting time you spent mending sheets.”

Oswald laughed. “That wouldn’t impress Victor.”

“No.” Charles tried to hide his relief. “I imagine there are other things he likes to talk to you about.”

Strangely, Oswald looked sad.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Victor’s just concerned about me.”

“Oh.”

“He knew me before, and, well, he thinks I’ve become a bit too trusting.”

Charles felt a flash of guilt at that. Victor certainly wasn’t wrong—not that he could say that to Oswald, of course.

He was saved trying to find the right answer by a knock on the door.

_Saved_ turned out to be the wrong word.

“It’s me, Victor.”

Charles felt a rush of panic. He needed to hide the work Oswald was doing before it was seen. He opened his mouth to order Victor to wait, but he was already too late.

“Come in,” Oswald said cheerfully.

Victor stepped into the room his eyes swiftly scanning first Charles, then Oswald, and when he got to what was in his hands they narrowed.

“Oswald was merely teaching me how to sew,” Charles said quickly. “It was the only way I could think to learn in such a short time.”

Victor didn’t look like he believed him. “It’s not nice to lie now,” he said, confirming it.

Oswald looked at them both in confusion. “I’m sorry, I was only trying to help.”

“You’re very helpful.” Victor gave him a smile, and either it was less creepy than normal, or Charles was just getting desensitized. “But if you don’t mind, I need to speak with Charles alone.”

Not again, not so soon.

“That’s OK, he can stay,” Charles said, trying to hide his dread.

The look Victor gave him was somewhere between disbelieving and murderous. Charles felt his stomach flip, and he found himself hoping that Victor would remember his promise to Oswald.

“This is a private discussion,” Victor said, an edge to his tone for Charles’ benefit, and since he was so intent on staring Charles down, he didn’t see Oswald flinch at being asked to leave.

Charles understood what Oswald was thinking, because he’d thought it himself. He was more attractive than Oswald, so it was only natural to assume that Victor would think so too.

It gave Charles an idea, and even as he committed to it, he knew it probably wasn’t a good one, but he was desperate enough to try it anyways.

“You shouldn’t send Oswald away like that, he’s going to get the wrong idea about us.” Charles winked at both of them, as if he were merely teasing, and not frightened out of his wits.

Victor looked confused, but Oswald grew flushed. Good, that would help.

“Don’t tell me you enjoy making my poor brother jealous?”

Victor’s glare returned. “Of what?”

“Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed that he’s in love with you?”

Victor looked like he was about to cross the distance and throttle him, but then Oswald made a small, high pitched sound that was cut off as he clamped his hand over his mouth.

If anyone else had done that, Charles might have found it adorable.

Victor shifted to look at Oswald and froze. “Oswald?” he said after a pause.

“Sorry. I should go.” Oswald smiled brightly, only for it to fall away and then return again, as if he was too nervous to keep control of his face. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He looked like he was about to bolt.

Victor wasn’t saying anything at all. He just frowned, his head tilted to the side, as he stared at Oswald.

It was ridiculous. If left up to the two of them, it would be _years_ before they got together.

“You should just kiss him already. He clearly wants you to.” Although no sooner had Charles said the words, then he realized that was mostly a lie. Oswald’s eyes were wide, his body seemingly paralyzed with fear. It would be difficult to imagine that his thoughts were in any way romantic.

But instead of rounding on Charles and accusing him of making the whole thing up, Victor began to move towards Oswald slowly. He didn’t seem particularly off put by Oswald’s obvious terror. But Charles supposed Victor was used to inspiring that in people.

Oswald didn’t try to flee, but merely trembled as Victor raised a hand to caress his jaw, and slowly moved his thumb over Oswald’s lips. Finally, Victor leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

Charles couldn’t make out what was said, but he could see Oswald’s reaction, and he watched as it went from shocked to just the slightest bit thrilled.

He gave Victor a solemn nod.

Victor grinned, wide and creepy as ever. He seemed to puff up for a moment, but then he spun to look at Charles.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Victor said, his voice low and hard again. “But I’m giving you one more chance anyway.”

Charles exhaled in relief.

“But I will be back to check your work tonight.”

“Yes, of course, you won’t be disappointed.”

Victor held out his hand and Oswald took it, blushing even deeper, as Victor led him from the room.

The moment they were gone, Charles locked the door. He should have done that earlier.

Although he supposed everything had worked out anyway. And it probably wouldn’t have actually kept Victor out. It made him feel better though.

He hoped when Victor returned, Oswald would have put him in a good mood. Although he couldn’t imagine he’d offer to do much. He’d probably just want to play another board game. Although Victor seemed like he’d be just as pleased with that.

Charles went over to look at the work Oswald had started. He’d sewn the pillow and its case, but the sheet and blanket were still untouched.

Well, no matter, he’d have plenty of time. For now, he was going to finish his breakfast.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Victor finds Oswald living at the Van Dahl's and is invited to stay as his guest. Charles is given the task of seducing him, but when his attempt fails, he turns to violence.
> 
> A huge thank you to [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines) for beta reading this <3


End file.
